


The colony

by Ubiquitous_Chaos (Chameowmile)



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Alternate Universe - Space, Carlos is Human, Cecil is Inhuman, M/M, POV Second Person, carlos is a doctor/scientist from a delivery ship, cecil's an alien/human, switches between carlos and cecil
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-30
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:25:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chameowmile/pseuds/Ubiquitous_Chaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It's not every day that ships visit, let alone crash, and you want to be the first to learn where this one came from, since none of the surrounding militaries have reported missing crews."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crash Landing

**Author's Note:**

> I'm about as nerdy about space as I am zombies, so I decided to write a space AU for it.  
> I'm not the best at editing my own stories, also it's late, so there may be mistakes.  
> 

**~Cecil~**

  
" _We've been in space for a hundred and fifty days..._ "

The voice is quiet, subdued, and dripping with exhaustion, but it continues on, clouded in a blanket of static.

" _I've never made one of these before, not on this camera at least, so if this happens to be the only one that survives...well, that's why you haven't seen me before now. The captain felt that we should all record our farewells on the same one, so, I suppose that's what I'm here for..._ "

The hull of the ship groans beneath the weight of itself, threatening to give out as beams twist and warp.

The thing has only been here for about an hour, but being a journalist means risking life and limb to get these sorts of things out to the public. Even if that means sneaking outside of the city walls and breaking about fifty laws in the process. It's not every day that ships visit, let alone crash, and you want to be the first to learn where this one came from, since none of the surrounding militaries have reported missing crews.

You're searching for their black-box specifically, but think that whatever is relaying this particular message will be equally as interesting as that, and probably easier to find in this mess.

"... _it's strange._ " The voice continues. " _When I was a kid, we never had enough to eat. Some days I'd get half a slice of bread and some water, others, I'd get nothing. But I've never known what it was like to truly be hungry. To starve. And I still don't know. Our supplies only ran out today, but I hope our oxygen will be what runs out first, because I've heard starvation is one of the worst ways to die...but you just faint when you run out of oxygen...maybe I'll just turn off the filter...it's in my lab...anyway, um, there's only so much memory on this tape, so the others need to get their chances now. I have no one to bid farewell to, and this is just a waste of time, but, I just want to get this off of my chest. I'm afraid of dying, of leaving my work unfinished, and of-_ "

The recording ends with an abrupt spitting whirring sound as the last hum of the ship's life-force fades away.

This, however, isn't a problem for you.

You snap open your third eye.

Violet lights and patterns spark across your skin, illuminating much of the room in the process.

Beakers lie scattered about, some spilling fluid into one another while others remain completely intact, their contents untouched and salvageable. Sharp objects take residence between the cracks of up-rooted earth and twisted metal, remaining where they were flung upon impact, some puncturing stone and other typically un-stabbable things in a show of just how hard this impact was.

However, above all else, what you see is not the _room_ , not even something physical, but rather, the aura of something nearby. The dying hum of something that isn't a machine, but a person.

There's a stuttering heartbeat, and the blackened light of a frightened soul.

You make your way over cautiously, expanding your clairvoyant field to check for others, but, find none. You retract it back into yourself after a moment and turn your attention back to this person instead.

They're conscious, surprisingly, and their eyes grow wide at the sight of you. They say nothing, apparently unable to do so with the way that they're currently clawing at their throat, but are clearly aware of you.

It's a man.

A very _handsome_ man.

Unfortunately, his obvious distress and the web of blood blooming across the white of his coat are kind of mood killers.

"What's your name?" You ask softly, kneeling down beside him.

You reach out for to touch his chest and feel for the source of the blood. "Mine's Cecil."

The man looks alarmed, but still doesn't speak. He's definitely in shock.

He clutches feebly at your wrist for a moment, chemical-calloused fingers trembling against the pale pearlescent of your own.

You shush him quietly, using your free hand to pet and soothe his head.

You locate his wound after a moment. A gash in the dip of his throat.

Explains why he's not talking, at least.

It's a wonder he can even breathe with that sort of injury. And perhaps he really can't. It's difficult to tell how blue he is in this lighting.

"Would you like my help?" You ask, pressing your hand to the trickling wound in an attempt to slow a bit of the blood-loss. "I'm not a doctor but I do have some tricks up my sleeve for flesh wounds."

The man, still clawing unhappily at your hand does nothing to acknowledge the question one way or another.

Because of this, you decide to take matters into your own hands. Because although it's _polite_ to ask someone if they want to be left for dead or not, you can hardly do so when they can't actually talk.

You allow for a few of the violet tattoos on your hand to transfer over to the other man's skin, and as they do, they become the prettiest shade of red, knitting together into his flesh like a band of his odd, rusty blood.

Alarm flashes across the man's face,  as the tattoos finally set, closing the wound.

You smile fondly down at their handiwork and run your thumb across their surface, causing a little eye to snap open in the middle of the neck band and shut again. It looks like a pretty choker, and once you pull your hand away, the eye snaps open again, making it even prettier.

You should try that with yourself sometime.

It occurs to you that you should probably be getting out of here soon, considering the fact that if you take too long and get caught, you'll have to go through decontamination and who knows what might happen if they find him.

You scan around the room slowly, a nearby pool of blood evident of how much was really lost, and spot something in it.

An ID card.

You snatch it enthusiastically, standing, and see the man try to follow your movement with his eyes.

He passes out a moment or so later.

You glance down at the ID card.

" _Carlos_." It rolls off your tongue like honey. There's a little red asterisk next to his name, which you're sure would be explained were you to run it through the ships system, but probably isn't anything to worry about.

You pocket the card and scoop him up into your arms.

It takes you a moment to locate and grab the recording device which had been playing earlier, but once you do, you pick it up and duck out with it and the man in tow.

Some hooded figures are now skittering about outside of the ship, but they don't pay you much mind, as they all seem occupied with...bodies.

You almost allow yourself to wonder if they were bodies before the figures found them, but then push the thought aside before it can draw their attention and dash away.


	2. Consciousness

**~Carlos~**

  
You wake up in a bed.

Your throat feels tight, as if bandaged or something, so you reach up to test it, but find nothing amiss.

You growl hoarsely to yourself as you look around and find that you're in a hospital room. One of the more advanced ones, with the automated systems and whitewashed walls.

That's bad, however, because the electrical pulses fuss with your pacemaker.

Normally you get put in the manual treatment bay, with real doctors and nurses, but there's always the possibility that somewhere won't have one, since they are fairly retrospective and machines make fewer mistakes than people.

You sigh. Holograms are pains.

Fortunately, though, none are running right now, so you have a moment of peace.

You take a moment to sit up and look yourself over more carefully, but find no signs of injury.

You don't really remember anything, and feel fine, so maybe you just fainted.

It's been a while, but it's possible, that happens sometimes.

You sigh and throw your legs over the side of the bed.

"U...uh, h...hello?"

Your voice sounds odd. Higher than it used to be.

You frown, but decide not to worry about it too much.

Nobody responds.

You're awful at talking to people, but having none around is disconcerting in its own way, and you really would like somebody to tell you what's going on.

You know you're not on the ship, because you were the one in charge of the sickbay on the ship, and this certainly isn't it.

The last thing you remember is making a delivery to the _CMD_ galaxy, so there's no way you're on Earth, but you may have reached your destination, or made an early stop due to your health.

Deep in your own thoughts, you almost don't notice when the door finally zaps open.

What you don't expect is for it to be a _human_ who visits, rather than an alien.

It's an old woman, and behind her, there's an odd, looming being in a sweater. One which makes you feel a little teary eyed, and gives you the suspicion that looking directly at it might be bad.

Indifferent to your plight, the woman smiles at you, and clasps her hands together.

"How are you feeling?"

You decide it doesn't really matter what species they are, and shrug. "A little confused." You mumble back. "Do you know what happened?"

"You'll remember soon enough." She assures you. "For now, I think you should get dressed."

You glance down at yourself and the hospital gown you're wearing.

"What happened to the clothes I was wearing?"

"It's been sent to decontamination." She replies.

"Then what am I suppose to wear?"

"We've brought clothes for you."

At that, the strange being accompanying her moves forward, and holds out a pile of clothes. None of it is familiar to you. Not even the labcoat on top.

You take it all hesitantly.

"Uh, t...thank you, um..."

" _Erika_ ," comes a thought.

"Erika."

The being does nothing, but the old woman smiles.

"Cecil will be delighted to hear you've woken up!"

"Cecil?" You ask quietly, wringing out your hands. "Oh, uh, that's...great...Say. How long have I been here?"  

" _Three days_." Comes that voice in your head again.

You blink, but the old woman just nods in agreement, as if she heard it too.

Telepathy then. Fascinating.

"Alright..." You sigh, looking down at the clothing in your hands. "In any case, do you think I could I have some privacy while I get dressed?"

The old woman smiles. "Something like that."

The pair leaves without further explanation.

You decide not to read too much into it.

***

Your pacemaker is...gone?

"But I've had it since highschool!" You choke, feeling for the scar that is no longer there. "How can I just be fixed like that?"

Josie seems amused.

"The technology was old-fashioned and inefficient. Ours is better."

You stare back, stunned, and incredibly uncomfortable.

Have they fixed anything  _else_ about you?

This is too weird.

"Um...c...could I go back to my ship now?"

"Later." Responds Josie, though she doesn't sound as if she really means it.

You knit your brows anxiously.

"Can I see the rest of my crew?"

"Not now."

"Where are they?" You squeak, feeling suddenly quite frightened.

She opens her mouth to come up with some excuse again, but Erika interrupts with, " _Dead_."  

You stiffen instantly.

"What?! What happened?!"

Josie casts them a stern look before responding.  
  
"Well, it looks like the cat's out of the bag. Your ship crashed here, and you were the only one Cecil managed to fish out of the wreck before the hooded figures came."

" _You're not supposed to be here_." Erika adds ominously.

Josie casts them another dirty look.

"Unfortunately, Erika's right. Outsiders aren't normally allowed inside the city walls. The SSP are looking the other way for now, but if anyone files a formal complaint, they'll have to acknowledge your presence."

This is not what you wanted.

"So, of all the places in the universe I could have been stranded, I got stuck in a dystopian nightmare?!"

She just chuckles.

"Welcome to Night Vale."

At that, you freeze.

"Night Vale? Like the colonist ship that disappeared a _century_ ago?!"

She doesn't bother humoring that with a response, and instead just says.

"Erika will show you to Cecil's block."

"What, why?!"

"You can't live in the hospital forever, silly! Cecil's got highstanding here, so the SSP won't bother him much, and he's promised to take you in."

"Why can't I just go back to my own ship?! Surely it's not completely totaled!"

She just laughs at this.

***

This "Cecil" person isn't there when Erika leads you to his "block" as Josie had called it.

It's clear as you walk that this is indeed a colonist ship. The entire structure is circular. A tall, multiple-storied cylinder, with the insignia of an eye inlaid into the marble of the bottom floor. In it, the moon is reflected, and a part of you can't help but wonder if these people would even understand what the moon is anymore, after all this time away from home.

The block proves to just be an apartment. Earth styled, of course, considering it's origin, and not too technological, compared to everything else. It's complete with a single bedroom, a living room, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. You find that the living room has already been set up for guest use, with a pullout couch made up and the end table stocked with some miscellaneous toiletries and supplies.

The place is fairly unassuming


	3. x-cralose

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason I'd thought I had a writing block with this chapter, but apparently it's been finished for a while and I just spaced it out at some point. LOL  
> sorry

~Cecil~

  
 He’s even more handsome than you remember.

 He looks absolutely gorgeous. Skin pink from the chemical rinse he must have had at the hospital, body replenished with blood, and hair a pretty mop of curls.

They're more neatly defined than they used to be, shinier too, thanks to whatever the shower decided to prescribe to him for his frizz, and kind of bouncy. You don't, however, think he likes it very much, judging by the way he's looking at his reflection in one of your picture frames, with a horrified expression on his face.

 “Hey there!" You call cheerfully, causing him to yelp and jump about half a foot.

 He twirls around to greet you, clutching defensively at the tattoo on his throat. It occurs to you that he may have been looking at the tattoo, and  _not_ his hair.

 "I, uh, h...hi!" He stammers, face reddening adorably as he tries so hard to compose himself. "You're Cecil, right?"

 His voice is so lovely in person that you have to take a moment to appreciate it's perfect timbre before responding.

 "That's me! And your name is _Carlos_ , right?" You can't help but purr it.

 He doesn't appear to notice, however, and just sighs, glancing sideways at the picture frame again.

 "Yeah..." He sighs. "It's nice to meet you."

 "Are you hungry?" You chuckle, gently walking past him. "We could get you something to eat in the cafeteria."

He frowns.

 "Aren't I supposed to be...um, like a secret or something? Blatantly visiting a cafeteria doesn't seem very logical."

 "I'm sure we can think of something." You snort, waving him over. "Come here."

 He frowns.

 "What?" Why?"

 "I promise I won't bite, just give me your hand."

 His brows knit in concern, but he does as he's told, holding his right hand forward to you.

 You take it gently in your own.

 It's so soft and warm.

God you love humans.

You gently thumb over it for a moment, relishing in his nice human comfort, before releasing him again with a smile.

"There you are."

 He frowns, studying the back of it in confusion.

 "A...barcode?" He asks, studying the new tattoo. "How'd you do that?"

 "Living ink." You coo. "I'm the receptionist at the reeducation center, so I'm in charge of giving people their IDs."

 "Is this valid?" He asks.

 You shrug. "It'll work. You have an account now. But I'll have to fill in your actual information later. Your biological data and preferences will be integrated into the system as you use it and your stats will be built based on your habits and actions."

 "Wow...um...cool." He mumbles back, despite not looking entirely convinced.

 "Is something wrong?" You ask, tipping your head.

He just shakes his head.

 "No...just...no, nevermind. Let's get going."

 ~Carlos~  
 This whole place is strange, but the people in it, including your new guide, are even stranger.

He's very attractive, sure, but still quite odd.

 He claims to be halfhuman, half... _something_ , but he won't specify what that something is, and you've yet to see any actual  _fullblooded_ aliens around that resemble him in the least. Which is strange, and makes you wonder if:

 A. _You might be looking for a species that left the planet._

 or

 B. _You're looking for a species that no longer exists._

 Cecil holds your hand as he leads you down to the cafeteria, which is weird, but not something to worry about much. He seems cold-blooded, so he's probably just trying to snatch your body heat. Besides, the gesture may have lost it's original meaning in the past century or so.

 The skin contact also gives you the perfect opportunity to make some observations.

 1. _His skin is quite a few degrees cooler than your own, as you'd previously guessed, and is close to the room's current temperature._

 2. _His skin is soft, smooth like the fur on a cat's neck, pearlescent, and possibly thicker than your own, though you'll have to do tests to prove that last one._

 He leads you to an elevator, which the two of your hop onto, after scanning the weird barcodes you each have.

 _His_ barcode is on his palm.

 The machine doesn't even hesitate when processing your own code, which brings up a small profile with your name and something underneath that says "Ground zero".

 "Ground zero?" You ask hesitantly. "What does that mean?"

 Cecil smiles, revealing a mouthful of teeth that you don't think he had a few moments ago. "Oh, that's just where you're going to live. Don't worry about it. The only people who will pay it any mind are the SSP, and that's only if you do something you shouldn't do."

 "Is it bad?"

 He just chuckles and pushes a button.

 "Don't worry about it."

The elevator lurches, plunging the both of you to a new floor in a matter of seconds.

 The door snaps open, and you stumble out, grappling for some form of support before you faint. Cecil grabs you by the arm and pulls you up fondly, nuzzling close to you as he points skyward.

 "That's my room."

 It's about fifteen stories above you.

 You spot the eye insignia on the floor, and make an attempt to wrap your mind around how it's even possible to have reached the bottom so quick. You stop, however, when it ends up making you dry heave.

He doesn't appear to notice as he starts pulling you along again.

"Cafeteria's this way."

You decide that he must have ungodly equilibrium.

 The cafeteria looks relatively normal when you finally enter, with lots of tables and a serving area at the front, much like a basic school cafeteria, to be honest. The room is only half-lit, making it appear closed, and you see nobody else present, besides a strong-looking, red-headed man at the counter.

 He looks fairly human, but probably isn't, judging by his bi-colored eyes.

The man cocks a brow at the two of you.

 "Cecil?" He asks, only to frown. "Who is this?"

 "His name is Carlos!"

The cook growls. "Has this one at _least_ gone through decontamination?" He asks. "I don't want to get some sort of weird illness because you didn't bother getting your  _pet_ vaccinated."

You blush despite yourself at the none-too-subtle insult.

 Cecil just changes the subject.

 "We need food." He coos pleasantly, leaning against the counter. "Can you make it?

 The man just glares.

 "Mealtime isn't for another hour, _Cecil_ , stop trying to drag me down with you and your rulebreaking."

 "Mmm, couldn't you make an exception?" He teases.

 "Most certainly not!"

Cecil smirks, and pulls something from his pocket, which make's the cooks eyes go wide.

He holds his hand out.

"What is that?"

 His barcode is on his wrist.

 Cecil hands it over.

"Nutmeg."

And just like that, he starts sounding more like a kid in a candy shop than anything.

"What?! Really?!" He cries, looking the  tin over.

 Cecil merely chuckles.

 "I figured you would like it."

 "I _do_!" He squeaks, cradling it in awe. "It's almost full! Where did you get it?!"

 Cecil smiles slyly.

 "I'll tell you tonight, okay? Now, may we get some food, Earl?"

 The man nods and jerkily after a moment and hands the tin back to Cecil, who repockets it, much to your confusion.

 "Yes! Definitely! Just a moment!"

 He pulls out a small scanner from under the counter, and Cecil holds his hand out. Earl gently uses it to scan his barcode, and then turns to you, though something tells you he doesn't care much for you. You hold your hand out and sigh.

 If this is supposed to be some sort of shady secret thing, what good could cataloguing your visit be?

 After a moment, his machine beeps, and he disappears through a door.

He returns later with what look like two lidded steamer pots, and hands one to each of you.

 You hold yours awkwardly, and Cecil smiles.

 "Thank you." He coos. "I'll make sure you get some sugar later, too."

Earl's face reddens considerably at this.

 "Don't say things like that."

 "Why not, handsome?"

 He barely flusters out an incoherent reply before Cecil is already on his way out.

 You swallow awkwardly and dip your head.

 "Thank you."

 Your voice comes out quiet, awkward, but neither of you seem to notice.

Earl looks a little pained as he responds, staring after Cecil.

 "Just don't forget to send the plates down."

***

  
 You bring the meals back up to Cecil's block, where the man sets them down on a regular looking dining table and pulls up a chair.

 "Earl's a wonderful cook!" He chimes. "Maybe you'll get to taste some of his good stuff tonight."

 You cock a brow at this, but don't question his meaning as you fiddle with the container, attempting to open it.

 He pokes a little glass thing on the top.

 "Scan your bar."

 "...right."

 You do as you're told and the box unlatches, popping open.

 It looks a bit like spaghetti, but the noodles are black, and rather than sauce, it's covered in a broth of some sort. It looks kind of gross but doesn't smell too bad, a little buttery, so you  decide it probably won't kill you. It's not fancy, or really seasoned at all for that matter, but makes you want to eat it anyway.

 Maybe you're just starving.

 You catch on quickly enough once the lids interior lights up with writing.

 It starts off with a basic list of the things that people, or at least, _humans_ , need to eat in general.  
Fats, salts, sugars, water, minerals, vitamins, etc. etc. The list is long and tedious. You don't bother reading it too much, it's self explanatory anyway, even if everything is written out using the scientific names.

 "How does the machine know enough about my body to make a mockup like this?" You ask, scrolling through the list as quickly as you can. You're sure most people probably don't actually read the thing around here, but you're a newby and it's interesting.

 Cecil blinks, visibly starting a small click-through of his own.

 "Your barcode told Earl's scanner about your physiology. The ink's not just alive, it's parastic, so it knows your body better than you do."

 You swallow.

 "Oh...that's cool."

 Nice. You have an alien parasite.

 A new list shows up beneath the original.

 **Deficiencies:**  
-Iron  
-HDL Cholesterol  
-Calcium  
-Sodium  
-Vitamin D

 Interesting.

 "What does it say _you're_ lacking, Cecil?"

 He glances up, chewing on a mouthful of what looks like bread.

 Not fair!

 _You_ didn't get any bread.

 "Uh. Sucrose, lactose, glucose, fructose, zylose, iron, and sodium."

 Okay then.

 "That's a-lot of sugar."

 He smiles.

 "It's vital for my cell production." But it's rare or something, so I'm always low on it. These meals are supposed to supply us with everything we need, but it's not easy when the thing you need is severely understocked. So usually Earl just lets me pick what I want to eat and adds in the minerals I get low on. I eat sugar cubes the rest of the time."

 You frown.

 "Really?"

 He nods pleasantly.

 "Mmhm. But it's okay. It just means I'm tired a-lot...and get sick sometimes." He frowns. "And my hands shake."

 "You don't...uh...look ill."

 He smiles.

 "That's sweet." He drops his gaze to his food. "The last time my rations were sufficient was before puberty."

 3. _Survives on sugar._

 4. _Aliens have puberty too._

 "There's sugar on our ship. "You murmur. "And a considerable amount of candy. Our pilot was diabetic."

He blinks brightly.

 "Then they'll bump up my rations when they find it!"

 "Oh...I was more suggesting that we find it and you can have it all."

 "Or that."

 "Have you ever had sweetened condensed milk?"

 He shakes his head. "All I get is powdered milk."

 You smile.

 "You'll like it."

 "Do you think Earl would want some, too?"

 "The cook?" You ask, remembering the odd exchange with the Nutmeg. "Yeah, probably...we also had an extensive pantry, with spices in it."

 "Did you have salt?!" He gasps.

 You laugh. "Yeah. Of course."

 "Oh my Gods! Can we go now?!"

 "After we eat." You return.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to drop a kudos or leave a comment.  
> You can find me at kevin-the-chicken.tumblr.com


End file.
